


Hell in a Hand Basket

by Heavenbat



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Imprisonment, Mild Gore, Rescue Missions, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenbat/pseuds/Heavenbat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her best friend Donthar disappears, Zef tracks him down and sets out to save him. Unfortunately, things quickly spiral out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cover

**Author's Note:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; everyone (and everything) else is mine.


	2. Dire Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; everyone (and everything) else is mine.  
> **Hopefully I've explained everything well--more gets explained in later chapters, but feel free to ask if there's any questions.

Fren dropped himself into one of the chairs that ringed the long table with a tired-sounding sigh, propping one elbow on the table’s metal surface and gazing down the length of the conference room at its only other occupant: a tall, buff, blue-eyed Irken known by most as Wrath of Irk, one of the most known and feared rebel leaders in the galaxy. To a select few, however, he was known simply as Risk.  
Fren was one of those select few, which explained why Risk was standing at the head of the table decked out not in his Wrath armor, but in street clothes. 

“Is there any particular reason you’re not sitting closer?” Risk asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

“It seemed like such a long distance to walk,” Fren complained dramatically, returning Risk’s pointed stare. “You’ve been running me ragged ever since I got here—no, even before then.” 

Risk opened his mouth, then sighed and shut it again. Fren had a point—Risk had asked him to start working on developing and building new technology for the Syndicate, Risk's rebel group as soon as the teal-eyed Irken had departed from Ekeri, home planet of the Raiders, an allied rebel group.

Of course, Risk also knew there was another reason for Fren’s behavior—he wasn’t happy at being pulled away from the Raiders… more specifically, away from their leader, Zef, whom he had fallen in love with. 

“Let’s see what you’ve got then,” Risk said as he reached up and massaged the bridge between his eyes in exasperation. 

Before Fren had the chance to do more than reach down towards the oversized duffel bag by his side, a voice played over the intercom.

**Sir, there’s a call coming in. It’s from the Raiders.**

Almost instantly, Fren was on his feet, looking much more energetic than he had mere seconds before as he walked across the room to stand closer to the monitor that took up the wall behind Risk.

“So much for being ‘too tired’…” Risk muttered, giving a tired exhale and rubbing the back of his neck. “Can it wait, Thrill?” he asked the AI.

**It’s marked as urgent, sir.**

Risk glanced to Fren, who returned the glance, his expression turning from eagerness to worry in the blink of an eye. 

“Alright, put them through,” Risk commanded, turning to face the screen. 

The screen came to life, displaying a dark-skinned, aging Irken with half-lidded emerald green eyes. 

“Croi?” Fren asked as his expression changed to one of confusion. He had been expecting Zef, or even Donthar, Zef's right hand—the appearance of Croi instead was off-putting, at best. 

“Greetings.” Croi inclined his head toward the screen, the gems that hung from his antennae jingling slightly. “I do apologize for the interruption, but… have either of you heard from Zef?”

There was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern to the older Irken’s voice; Risk and Fren glanced at each other before Fren answered, “No… why?”

“That is what I was afraid of,” Croi sighed, the concern deepening… and the slightest indication of worry appearing on his otherwise blank face. That alone was enough to send up red flags in Fren’s mind—if it was enough to make Croi show emotion, there must have been something _seriously_ wrong.

“What’s going on?” Fren and Risk asked almost simultaneously. 

Croi gave a weary exhale, then answered, “Donthar has been missing for over a week now. We had been searching for a lead on his location, to no avail… until last night, apparently. Zef was gone by the time I awoke, and I discovered a file left open on one of the computers—Donthar is on Irk, and I fear that Zef has gone to retrieve him on her own.”

“I thought she hated Irk, though—she doesn’t even like coming to _Outer_ Irk,” Risk protested, confused. 

“You don’t understand!” Fren shot back, looking extremely agitated. “Donthar’s her best friend, she’d even go to Irk, _alone_ , to get him back! Croi, did the file say _why_ Donthar was on Irk?” he asked, thinking he already knew the answer. As it turned out, however, he was wrong.

“Unfortunately, no,” the older Irken replied, shaking his head. “Still… I would recommend whatever action you take, you do it quickly. Zef took our fastest ship—she could be almost at Irk by now, and while I do not pretend to know what is going through her mind, I am almost certain that she cannot be thinking rationally.”

“Alright, thank you Croi,” Risk said with a quick nod.

“Good luck.” And for a moment, just a moment, Croi dropped the expressionless façade he usually kept up, revealing true, deep concern. “Some of the Raiders and I shall be there as soon as we can.”

******

“Dammit, let me GO!” Zef snarled, slamming her shoulder against the bars of the cage once again. “I have to—”

“Yeah yeah, you have to get your friend back. I’m getting _real_ tired of hearing the same thing come outta your mouth over and over again,” interrupted Zef’s captor, an Irken woman with curling antennae and magenta eyes. She was dressed in a pink full-body suit with black and yellow accents, complete with two coattails reminiscent of wasp wings. 

The Irken woman, a Security Officer named Bizz, had intercepted Zef’s ship only a few hours from Irk, and as soon as she had recognized who Zef was—and discovered the bounty on Zef's head—had disabled Zef’s ship, boarded it, and restrained Zef. 

Through sheer determination, anger, and desperation, Zef had managed to take down a handful of soldiers—even after they took away her gun—before being overwhelmed and knocked unconscious. 

When she had regained consciousness, it was to find herself behind Bizz in the cockpit, locked in a cage barely big enough for her to stand in, with her arms shackled behind her back. She had been mildly surprised that Bizz hadn’t contacted Teivol and handed her to him yet, and surprised also at the size of the cockpit; it seemed far too small for the huge ship that had disabled her own.

But that detail, along with a handful of other details, were all soon pushed aside by the need to get out, to rescue Donthar, to make sure nothing had happened to him. And so she had resorted to asking, demanding, even _begging_ for Bizz to let her go, to no avail. She had slammed herself against the bars of the cage until her shoulders ached, but the pain only dimly registered in her mind. Right now, there was only one thing she could focus on, one thing that filled her with fear and desperation. 

Donthar was on Irk, and she had to get him back before something terrible happened to him. She _had_ to. 

“Please! I’ll do anything, I’ll give you anything! 

“Tch, unless you can outbid that sizeable bounty on your head—which I _highly_ doubt—you’re out of luck.”

“He won’t give you the bounty until he gets me to Irk!” Zef shot back, seizing on the opportunity she thought she saw, “How do you think he hasn’t gone bankrupt yet? He doesn’t give the money to just anyone who hands me over—”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m bringing you directly to Irk myself,” Bizz replied, disinterested. 

“You won’t—”

“Great _Irk_ do you ever shut up?!” Bizz spat, getting to her feet and stalking over to glare at Zef. "This whole time all you’ve done is whine about this stupid little friend of yours. What’s so special about this guy anyways? Don’t answer that, I’m sick of hearing your voice. No wonder the Second Commander likes torturing you; anything to get you to shut your big mouth. I don’t want to hear _one more word_ out of you, you obnoxious reject.”

“Or what?” Zef taunted, returning Bizz’s glare, hoping it’d incite the Security Officer to do something, _anything_ , that she could take advantage of.

Instead, Bizz let out an angry snarl, reached through the bars of the cage, grabbed Zef by the front of the shirt, and quickly and repeatedly pulled back, slamming Zef’s face into the bars again and again.

On the fifth blow, Zef lost consciousness once again.

******

“This is Wrath to all ships: mark positions.” Risk, in his Wrath armor, was sitting on the bridge of one of the Syndicate’s fastest ships...accompanied by _all_ of the Syndicate’s fastest ships that could be gathered fast enough. Each had the Faster-Than-Light engines of myth designed by the CyberIrkens, a faction that could outdo the Empire in any technological feat, with or without Vortian inspiration; so any ships within two hundred light years were able to heed Wrath’s summons. They had all gathered in Irk’s home system under heavy surveillance cloaking to avoid being seen by the homeworld fleet, which not even the Syndicate at full strength could take on.  
One by one, a dozen other armed stealth ships lit up on the screen before him. “...We’re ready. Captain Rikson... you have tactical command, as requested.”

Fren was on his own ship, the _Ranger_. It had been used by his father, the outlaw Rikalo ‘Rik’, before his death. And now it continued to strike fear into the Empire’s armies and navies... and to think it had started out as a rusted Veniran strike ship. He was the only one on it, and didn’t even need an AI to keep it running...

The _Ranger_ ran itself.

“Alright...I see it.” Fren locked onto the Irken cruiser that was heading straight for the capital of the Empire at sub-light speed. “...at this rate they’ll be there in an hour.”

“We’ll strike on your command, Fren.”

“Then... all ships, engage and attack!” Fren gunned his ship forward, dropping out of Stealth Mode. The rest of the Syndicate Fleet followed suit, and began to open fire on the cruiser’s escort ships. The Imperials scrambled to respond under the strain of nearly a third of their number being blown to bits within the first thirty seconds of combat, but soon their discipline prevailed and they organized a defensive screen around the cruiser. The Syndicate fleet now had lost the element of surprise and was fighting a larger fleet of Irken ships.  
“Target the ships moving at the rear of the column!” Fren commanded, directing three ships to handle them. “I’ll go for the engines! Wrath, follow me and keep those Voot runners off of my back!”

“On it,” Wrath replied while his ship followed the _Ranger_ closely, launching numerous automated attack drones which helped to take care of the swarm of Irken Voot runners pouring out of the larger Imperial ships. The Syndicate ships relied on their speed and superior weapons to win the fight, managing to fell at least one Imperial ship every minute or two. But this was still taking too long for Fren’s liking, so when he finally broke through and reached the engines of the cruiser he opened fire with the _Ranger's_ full arsenal.

Lasers and missiles impacted against the ship’s shields uselessly, fueling Fren’s growing impatience and poking at the edge of the consciousness within him known simply as the Beast. It was almost an entirely separate entity: feral and brutal; spawned from circumstances of extreme stress, rage, and fear; residing in the depths of Fren's mind; and fueled by the nano-genes that pulsed through Fren's veins. It snarled and shook within its mental cage. _They hold our mate! Our Zef! Kill them all! **Kill them all!!!**_

Beneath his skin, his nano-genes began to glow bright green and form veins of light all throughout his body. But Fren had enough self-control to keep the Beast from transforming him in the middle of the bridge. The nano-genes gave him many abilities, but few of them would be helpful right now in trying to save Zef—

“Wait...can’t believe I never thought of this before.” Fren said before plugging a cable from his Pak into a port. “... This gonna hurt.”

At once he felt like a giant mosquito had dug into him and was drinking him dry. Fren bit his lip and transferred control of his ship to Wrath. “K-keep me in one piece Wrath...I’ve got a way past that shield.”

“Whatever it is, make it fast. We’ve lost half our battle group already!” Wrath insisted as his drones carved another Imperial ship to pieces.

“Oh-trust me!” Fren’s fingers dug into the metal of the controls in front of him so hard that the surface began to bend and deform under his grip. Within his veins, thousands of Nano-Genes were flowing out of his veins and into the ship’s systems. There, they began to bind to the _Ranger_ and modify its systems all throughout its frame. The effort felt like it was draining Fren of everything and leaving a lifeless sack of flesh and bone behind.

_Weak!_ The Beast growled in the back of his mind. _Simpering little man. Zef is waiting for us. If you are not strong enough to affect this plan then I shall!_ It gripped his mind, wrenching control from Fren while he was weakened...

And now hundreds of thousands of nano-genes poured out of Fren’s body as a roar burst from his throat. The entire ship was glowing with them as they all began to fulfill one function...

Shifting the density of the ship and enabling it to phase clean through the shield of the cruiser, under the control of Beast-Fren. It cackled as it angled the _Ranger_ towards the hangar bay, smashing through several Voot runners and then shrieking across the hangar floor in a shower of sparks. The glow consuming the _Ranger’s_ hull faded as the Nano-Genes began to restore it to its previous state and flow back into their host and owner...

Beast-Fren slowly stood up and calmly stepped out of the bridge and to the primary air lock, clearly aware of the dozens of Irken soldiers gathering around the _Ranger_. “...Computer, engage exterior auto cannons.” As much as the Beast wanted to bite into flesh, snap bones with its bare hands and make these ants scream for mercy, it cared more for ‘biting’ into Zef’s flesh and making her scream for something close to mercy—and therefore, it needed to find her as soon as possible.

The _Ranger_ deployed its landing struts, which lifted the hull off of the hangar floor and allowed several auto cannons to deploy from the bottom. The Irken soldiers immediately opened fire, but in the blink of an eye so did the auto cannons, which turned many of them into sprays of red or tore through limbs and sent appendages flying...

And in the midst of the death and carnage, Beast-Fren strolled casually as if walking in the park. By now the soldiers had been mowed down or retreated. They barricaded the hangar doors and tried to call up the bridge to have the whole room vented, but they had barely managed to establish contact before a large claw tore through the metal security door barring the hangar.

All that was heard over the radio was their dying screams. And to put a cherry on top of the growing cake of disaster for the Imperials: The Raiders had just arrived in five new ships and had blown away more of the escorts in a pincer movement between them and the Syndicate fleet. The last of the escort ships wisely abandoned their charge and fled for help from Irk. Afterwards it was easy for the combined dozen or so ships to pierce the shields and take out the engines minutes after Fren had gone in on his own.

“Alright, set up kinetic grapplers and tow this baby back to the edge of the system.” Wrath instructed his ships. “I’ll go in with the Raiders and find Captain Rikson.”

Croi’s face appeared on a side screen. “Thank you. If they had managed to get her to Irk I do not know if we ever would have gotten her out alive.”

“Anything for a friend,” Wrath replied as he brought his ship in to land. “Now come on, Fren’s probably facing heavy resistance by now. He’ll need the back up.”


	3. Albedon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; everyone (and everything) else is mine.  
> **Hopefully I've explained everything well--more gets explained in later chapters, but feel free to ask if there's any questions.

Zef groaned as she slowly regained consciousness for the second time, her head throbbing painfully. This, on top of the frantic emotions that flooded through her as she returned to consciousness, along with the burning need to get Donthar back, made it nearly impossible to think. She groaned again, the sound strangely muffled, as she slowly, carefully cracked one eye open, then quickly snapped it shut again in pain. The light was too bright, stabbing like needles into her eyes. Everything felt _wrong_ somehow—her muscles ached from being crumpled up awkwardly in this tiny, cramped space, her head felt like it was about ready to split in two, and her face felt… off, somehow. 

“Good, you’re awake. Just in time, too!” a voice said, shattering the silence. “Looks like your little rescue team showed up. It’s about time, too. I was getting bored.”

This got Zef’s attention; immediately she sat up, doing her best to ignore the pain in her head, and tried to speak… to find that she couldn’t move her jaw, and all that came out was a muffled mumble. Suddenly, she realized why her face had felt strange; the lower half of her face was wrapped in a muzzle-like thick metal band that made it impossible to speak. She had seen these before, but never been forced to wear one… until now. The experience was entirely unpleasant; the feeling of it wrapped around her face was restricting, oppressive, and the inability to move her jaw was disconcerting, at best. In vain she tried to speak again, only for her words to once again be reduced to mumbles. 

Bizz laughed tauntingly when Zef shook her head as if attempting to shake the restraint off. “Don’t bother. That thing’s not coming off unless it’s disengaged. I _told_ you to shut up. Anyways, sit back and watch the show. It’s not like you’ve got anything _better_ to do.”

Bizz’s expression was cold, cruel, taunting, the true face of a Loyalist. And that confused Zef; if the rescue team was here, why was she so calm? Not even Teivol, who was used to these rescue missions, was this confident… and why weren’t there alarms going off or _some_ indication of the ship being attacked? 

As Bizz swiveled around in her chair to face the monitor, Zef’s confusion only deepened; the screen displayed security footage of soldier after soldier falling, of the ship’s escorts reduced to tiny bits, the main ship itself being completely overwhelmed by Fren, in his Beast form—the Raiders must have contacted him—and yet Bizz was just… observing. Studying, almost. How could she be so calm? 

“I have to give it to your groupies, they’re determined. They’ve gotten through that ship and its defenses faster than I thought they would. Not that it’ll matter—by the time they find your communicator and figure out that ship’s just a decoy, you and me will be entering Irk’s atmosphere”. 

Zef’s eyes widened and her stomach felt as if it had dropped through the floor as the full impact and meaning of Bizz’s words hit her. _The Raiders were on the wrong ship!_ And by the time they realized it, it’d be too late. Unless she somehow managed to get on her own, she was trapped and headed to Irk—five minutes ago, that was the only thing she wanted, but now the thought filled her with dread.

Trapped like this, she couldn’t save Donthar.

She was helpless, useless… she had failed, and she was being taken to Irk. 

In a sudden rush of terror she flipped onto her back and began frantically kicking at the bars, desperately trying to get out any way possible. She was borderline panicking, fear taking over and clouding her mind. No, this couldn’t be happening—she had to get out, had to save Donthar! She let out a muffled, frustrated scream and wildly redoubled her efforts. 

“Awww, what’s the matter? Did the widdle webel realize how much shit she’s in?” Bizz taunted, glancing over her shoulder to sneer at Zef. “Just wait till you see where we’re going.”

******

The sound of crunching bones and tearing flesh was almost loud enough to be heard over the soldiers’ terrified screams as Fren, still in his beast form, tore through them as easily as a bullet tore through paper. He didn’t even truly need the backup from the Syndicate and the Raiders; they were a mere formality, to ensure that not a single one survived, as Fren effortlessly tore through the ship. Standing at nearly ten feet tall, he was a terrifying sight: all teeth and claws and jutting spikes, the very picture of rage, lit up by veins of green. For all intents and purposes, he was unstoppable.

He was following a signal received on his Pak, a distress signal on a unique frequency emitted by the communicator Zef wore on her upper arm; it was the signal that the Raiders always used to track down where Zef was whenever she ran into trouble (which was often). Still, just as a precaution, he tore through each and every holding cell before finally reaching the cell where the signal was originating from. Without hesitating, he all but tore through the door…

To find that the room was empty, save for a lone metal communicator sitting in the middle of the room.

 

Fren stood there for a heartbeat, simply staring at the empty room as the realization fell into place: this ship was a decoy.

Zef wasn’t here.

He let out a roar of rage, turning and tearing through the rest of the cell block, all but demolishing it in the process. But still there was no Zef.

Fren’s next roar was almost a howl, equal parts rage and despair… and the soldiers that were unfortunate enough to come across him were reduced to little more than a pool of blood.

******

By the time Bizz’s ship entered Irk’s atmosphere, it was night on the Empire’s capitol planet, Irk. Zef still occasionally gave the bars a feeble kick, but though her panic was steadily increasing, her strength and energy had begun to wane. Now, on top of being frantic over the loss of her best friend and terrified at the situation, she was exhausted. Overall, things were looking grim… and she had to fight to keep from completely panicking. She hadn’t been on Irk—or anywhere near it—since she had been exiled.

“Looks like we’re here,” Bizz said with a yawn, stretching. “Soon I’ll have you off my ship and out of my antennae, and I’ll have a pocket full of money.”

Zef let out a sound that came out almost a whine as she struggled—no longer making any organized effort to escape but simply struggling and straining in any way possible at her restraints—pulling at the shackles around her arms, flailing against the bars in the cage, slamming the muzzle against the floor, the bars, anything. This was bad, this was so very bad—no, this was _beyond_ bad, this was a whole new category of “bad.” 

There was a _reason_ she avoided Irk like the plague. Here, the Empire and its Loyalists were at their strongest; here, the possibility of escape diminished drastically. Here, there was no hope. 

And things were about to get worse.

The ship’s radio suddenly came to life as a voice barked, “You have entered Albedon Prison restricted airspace! State your business or leave now, or you _will_ be shot down.”

Zef missed the first part of Bizz’s reply; her mind had momentarily gone into lockdown at that one word: _Albedon._ And then suddenly her mind was in overdrive, panic kicking in tenfold and overriding any exhaustion she had been previously experiencing. She began thrashing around wildly in the cage, her string of curses reduced once again to mumbles.

Albedon was infamous both inside and outside the Empire; it was Irk’s highest-security prison, and arguably the most secure prison in the entire Empire. Nobody escaped from Albedon— _nobody_. In the centuries of its existence, nobody had even gotten close. It was a name that criminals and rebels feared, known colloquially (and fittingly) as the _End of the Line._

“—called earlier, I have ex-Commander Zef in my custody,” Zef heard Bizz say, the words only dimly registering in her mind. 

“Ah yes, you’re right on schedule, and your ship ID matches up. Proceed to the next checkpoint,” replied the voice over the radio. 

The next few hours were filled with countless stops and starts as Bizz and her ship passed through checkpoint after checkpoint—even if Zef hadn’t been too frantic to think straight, she would have long since lost track of how many—each with various scans and security checks. This was Albedon’s first line of defense; nobody could even get close without security knowing, and any unauthorized ships would be shot down by the prison’s automatic turret system.

Eventually, they reached a point where the ship could go no further; they’d have to continue on foot. As a number of heavily-armored (and even heavier-armed) guards boarded the ship, Zef was having a hard time breathing; not because of the restraint across her mouth, but because of the sheer level of panic she had reached. They unlocked the cage she was in and swung the door open; in a rush of fear and desperation, she scrambled to her feet and charged the guards, managing to knock them out of the way. She darted out of the ship’s doors, dodging past another set of guards and out onto the ship’s ramp, which led down onto a small stretch of open ground between Bizz’s ship and an intimidating-looking ground transport sitting beneath a watchtower, surrounded by countless guards and the like. Almost as soon as her feet touched the ground, an alarm sounded somewhere; the sudden sound spurred Zef into action as she turned and ran. She didn’t know where she was running, or what she’d do when she got there; all she knew was that she couldn’t be dragged onto that transport, she couldn’t be thrown into that prison—if she was, it was game over.

She hadn’t taken more than a few steps before something large and white hit her in the side with all the force of a speeding Voot cruiser; the breath was knocked out of her and she felt her shoulder crack as she was knocked to the ground, the force of the impact actually managing to push her a few centimeters into the ground. 

As soon as her vision stopped spinning, the white shape that had attacked her and had her pinned down came into focus to reveal an albino Irken, his face gaunt and skull-like, a wide, sharp-toothed, insane grin plastered across his face. Somewhere in the back of her mind, recognition sparked; she felt as if she should know this Irken, but couldn’t quite place why. 

“My my, you have such a familiar scent about you,” the Irken said, dropping his terrifying visage far too close to her own for comfort and inhaling deeply. “Tell me… did Fren ever tell you about me?”

She froze at that, and suddenly she knew exactly who this was; Vithak, a powerful, genetically engineered member of the WitchHunter special forces who were tasked with eliminating the most unusual of enemies to the Irken Empire. More importantly, Vithak was the Irken who had singlehandedly murdered Fren years ago—only for Fren to be resurrected later with the help of nano-gene technology, which had then She let out a long, frantic whine of terror and attempted vainly to struggle away—a difficult task, since her arms were still securely shackled behind her. 

"Oh relax...seeing as he probably only told you the basics, let me fill in the rest," he said, giving her cheek a lick. Once again she found herself struggling to breathe, her struggles reduced to mere squirming, her skin crawling in revulsion and fear. "...Better yet, let me fill you in by breaking every one of your bones, one by one, until you ask me nicely to kill you."

“Vithak! Killing her isn’t an option,” barked a voice, one of the many guards who had by now swarmed around them. “We have specific orders to keep her alive until the Second Commander retrieves her.”

“Mmm… Yes, I do suppose she is more useful alive to lure out Fren so I can finish the job I started all those years ago,” Vithak mused—in a move of desperation, Zef took advantage of his momentary distraction to quickly and violently drive her knee upwards, directly between his legs.

Much to her surprise—and horror—his only reaction was a slight grimace that turned into a sickeningly sweet patronizing smile. “You know, I _wish_ I was still able to hurt down there, but your boyfriend’s father took care of _that_ rather thoroughly. Still… just for that little attempt, I’m gonna make you _watch_ as I cut your boyfriend open before handing you to Teivol.” With that, he clamped a hand around her throat—a little more tightly than was absolutely necessary—and stood. With his enhanced strength, he effortlessly hefted her off the ground like a ragdoll.

As he dragged Zef by the throat to the ground transport, she let out another strained whimper as she desperately thrashed her legs, attempting to kick Vithak, or one of the guards, or to dig her heels into the ground—literally anything that could possibly stop the death march to the ground transport, to no avail. The last thing she saw before Vithak and the other guards stepped onto the transport was Bizz giving her a sardonic salute… and then the doors closed, and her fate was sealed.


	4. Escalation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; everyone (and everything) else is mine.  
> 

CRASH!

“He’s still going,” Risk winced as he listened to Fren trash the cell block of the captured cruiser. “Everybody, Captain Rikson has to…vent some frustrations. In the meantime we have to focus on the situation at hand. Captain Zef has been captured by the Empire, and likely has been placed in Albedon in the time it took for us to capture this cruiser.”

“Albedon…” Croi shut his eyes as he thought of the nightmare prison that every rebel feared being sent to. “She is surely having a panic attack if she is there now. We have to find a way to get her out.”

“Easier said than done,” Risk sighed, looking to the assembled strike force of Raiders and Syndicate soldiers lined up and sitting on rows of crates in the captured cruiser’s hangar. “A direct assault on Albedon isn’t an option, but we do have one advantage here: They will NOT execute Zef in its walls, nor will they judge her there. They think that their little prison’s location is hidden, which is why they won’t be averse to sending her to the capital city to be taken to the Spire of Judgment.”

He projected an image of landscape to the group from his armor. “Here’s Albedon here,” A red dot flashed on one side of the holographic map. “Here’s the Spire here, approximately a three hour drive if they’re using a prisoner transport, even quicker if they’re using a shuttle or anything else. In case they are I’ll have some of my contacts in the capital watch the Spire for any new deliveries.” A yellow line connected the red to to a blue dot representing the spire.

Croi was leaning on his staff wearily, exhausted from having to clear the entire ship of imperial soldiers. “But the Empire uses multiple convoys whenever they have a high profile prisoner. We have seen it all before; the primary concern is finding out which convoy she is in. They generally use at least three or four, and if we split up our forces we would be _lucky_ to be able to hit three of them.”

“Four if we send Fren after one alone,” Risk admitted while slowly pacing along the metal floor. “And Croi is right, the Empire has been known to use anywhere from three convoys to as many as ten. Our best bet would be to conduct quick strikes on as many convoys as possible, dropping a small team onto each convoy to make a quick search of every transport.”

As he spoke however, Fren had settled down and was sitting in the middle of the ruined cell block. He was taking deep breaths, slowly pushing himself to his feet and beginning to take slow, rigid steps toward the doors. Zef was in danger and the others must have a plan by now, he had to be a part of it…

His PAK suddenly buzzed, making his whole body stiffen before he answered. It was not an audio message, but a text message. It appeared in his vision, near the bottom in green letters.

**It looks like your family’s about to lose another one.**

**Stand by for more information and I might be tempted to help you find her.**

There was no name in the contact information, but it had come from Irk…likely from Albedon itself. Whoever this was, they were toying with him, pointing out the death of his own mother…

Wait, who knew about that? The answer came before the question even occurred to him fully. Only one man outside of the Syndicate would know that much about him and have the balls to talk about it to his face…the man who had ruined his life once and murdered him and his little brother.

“ _Vithak,_ ” He growled, his nano-genes glowing through his skin again.

******

The doors had barely closed before the hulking, heavily-armored vehicle lurched into motion; still, despite the sudden and unpredictable movement, Vithak and the accompanying soldiers remained steady, barely even swaying. The soldiers took their places at strategic points around the vehicle’s open interior while Vithak effortlessly (and literally) tossed Zef onto the bench-like row of chairs against the opposite wall. As soon as her throat was free, she took in a deep, grateful breath, barely even registering the fact that Vithak had sat next to her… until he pulled her upright by one antenna, positioning her uncomfortably close to him and looping one arm around her shoulders. Though he had taken on a relaxed pose, leaning back in his chair with his arms splayed out along the backs of the chairs, he still practically exuded danger, like a predator merely toying with its prey. Like this, she knew she was practically defenseless, a fact of which he was clearly well aware of.

“You know, I’m willing to look past that little… mishap earlier. Water under the bridge and all that,” he said, giving a terrifying grin that would have been a genuine smile on any other face. “In fact, as a gesture of good will, I’ll do something special just for you. I’m going to make it easier for you to bear when I kill your boyfriend, by showing you how he died the first time. That way, when I kill him for the second time in front of you it won’t be quite as much of a shock.” His tone was sickeningly cheerful and casual, and before Zef even had the chance to fully register what he had said, he waved his hand and a holographic screen appeared in front of them, already playing footage of the exterior of a house.

Zef’s eyes widened and she tried to protest, resulting in merely a terrified groan; she knew what this was already, knew she didn’t want to watch this. However, just as she snapped her eyes shut—there were no words to describe how much she _didn’t_ want to see this—Vithak again grabbed her by the throat, digging the tips of his fingers into the flesh.

“ _Watch this_ , if you know what’s good for you,” he hissed. “If you don’t want to see this with your own eyes… I’ll just have to download this straight into your Pak and make you experience it _firsthand._ ”

And so she had no choice but to watch as the Vithak on the screen waltzed into the house, to watch helplessly as a younger version of Fren tried to defend his younger brother, to watch as Vithak mercilessly beat the two smeets, her heart feeling as if it had stopped at the image of the young Fren being thrown across the room like a rag doll; it was hard enough watching children in pain, harder still knowing their fates, and even harder being hopelessly in love with the older self of the child who so valiantly tried defending his brother…

But as soon as the bathroom came on the screen, Zef could take no more. She knew what was coming, knew what was going to happen to the two poor smeets, and knew already she couldn’t handle watching it, consequences be damned. She couldn’t handle watching young Fren and his brother be drowned in that bathtub, even knowing as she did that Fren would be brought back. 

In what could only be described as the wild thrashings of someone who had been pushed too far, she wrenched herself free of Vithak, taking him by surprise and kicking out with one leg. He was knocked backwards, colliding back-first with the wall.

There was a flash of light as Vithak crumpled onto the ground, curling up into the fetal position; the flash of light turned out to be a force field emitted by his Pak, powerful enough to send Zef tumbling across the floor… and directly into the feet of a row of soldiers, all of whom were now pointing their guns at her.

“ _Get back in your seat, prisoner,_ ” demanded one of the soldiers, gesturing with his gun. Why wasn’t he reacting more to what had happened? What _had_ just happened?

“ _You heard him—back in your seat!_ ” ordered another soldier, this one female, taking a step toward her. “ _One more outburst like that and you’ll have your legs shackled together too. If you weren’t easier to transport with your legs free we would have already done that—don’t push your luck._ ”

That was enough to motivate Zef to obey; as helpless as she was now, she at least still had use of her legs… take that away, and she might as well sign her own death warrant. Clumsily she rolled onto her feet and warily walked back to sit on one of the seats as far away from Vithak as possible, never letting her gaze wander from him… at least by now the video was over, the screen gone.

After watching Vithak intently for a few minutes, expecting him to get back up at any moment, she finally leaned back against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut and trying her hardest to organize her scrambled thoughts. With each passing moment, that was becoming more and more difficult—this was all simply too much to handle. First finding out Donthar was on Irk, then being taken to Irk—to _Albedon_ of all places—and then to come face-to-face with her love’s one-time murderer and then being forced to watch that horrible video, and then this force field thing happening… she was quickly approaching information overload, and the fact that her head and shoulder were both still throbbing from earlier abuse wasn’t helping any.

Suddenly, a noise broke through her meditation; it was soft and inconspicuous, but alarming nonetheless; it was the sound of something stirring on the floor. She snapped her eyes open, hoping she had been mistaken… but felt her heart drop through the floor as she saw Vithak drawing himself up off the floor, rolling his shoulders and then snapping his head around to glare at her.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he growled darkly, taking a step towards her. She tried backing away, her efforts in vain; with a sudden explosion of movement, he lashed out to clamp her face in one hand. She only had time to give a strained, terrified protest, before he slammed her head backwards into the wall with a resounding crack, the wall itself denting slightly at the impact. Instantly, splitting pain shot like lightning through her head; she let loose a scream of agony that devolved into pained whimpers as she writhed in his grip. If her head had been throbbing before, it was now positively _pounding_

“I’m going to take _special_ enjoyment in making you watch Rikson die,” Vithak snarled, releasing her and allowing her to curl in on herself. Whatever chance she had had at coherent thoughts was now long gone. 

Minutes later (though it felt more like hours with the painful pounding in Zef’s head), the transport pulled to a stop. Almost before the vehicle had completely stopped, Vithak stood and pulled Zef to her feet by pulling her up by her antennae, then shoved her towards the door as it swooshed open. She stumbled, unable to even focus on walking straight. She was dimly aware of Vithak saying something, and of the guards moving behind them, but by now her hearing was ringing and her vision was swimming, and it was all but impossible to think.

The next few minutes were a dazed blur of faces and being pushed, pulled, poked, and prodded through another countless set of checkpoints until finally she was guided through a large, imposing set of thick metal doors and into a seemingly endless two-story high hallway of cells.

Zef was led—or, rather, shoved—down the hall to an empty cell and roughly pushed into it. She stumbled and fell onto the floor, managing only to roll onto her back before passing out.

******

Fren was sitting on the bridge of the Ranger now, changed into some fresh clothes and waiting intently for Vithak to send him another ‘anonymous’ message. Risk was now using the Cruiser to scan Irk from a safe distance, thankful that nobody had managed to send off a distress signal that the cruiser was under attack. For now until the Empire made an effort to locate the ship they would assume it was still underway to Irk, which could serve as an advantage. It could hold several of the Syndicate and Raider ships, and even carry them past the orbiting armada. That would save a lot of time…but it would be fruitless unless they knew where Zef was.

And Vithak…he wanted Fren to come to Irk. The WitchHunter never did like to leave a job unfinished, and ever since he and Fren had encountered one another after the death of Fren’s father the albino had made it clear that he would make certain that Fren stayed dead the next time around. But Fren was no smeet now, and Vithak was older and weaker for all of his enhancements. If Rikalo ‘Rik’ managed to take him down once, then so could he.

“Fren?” Risk stepped into the bridge. “We’re heading for Irk now. As soon as we locate the convoys we’ll begin our raids.”

Fren turned and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“Fren, don’t call me ‘sir’. We’re friends,” Risk replied as he crossed his arms. “Besides, if Kid was the one in danger I probably would have run off alone and done something stupid. I don’t want to keep you waiting for this; we’re going after her now.” He patted Fren on the shoulder. “And we’ll bring her back home, you’ve got my promise.”

To others, the Wrath of Irk giving a promise would be like a miracle in the first stages of happening. But Fren knew Risk…and while he was a proficient fighter and tactician, the fact that he knew Risk was just flesh and blood didn’t bring Fren the same hope it brought others. Risk had a chance of failing, it was just smaller than what most others would have.

Risk saw Fren’s expression and decided to leave without another word, understanding that the teal eyed man wanted to be left alone. Fren sighed and looked out the forward canopy into the now busy hangar bay, which was filled with a half dozen ships besides his own.

His Pak buzzed silently again, and he immediately answered.

**Just letting you know that she’s still alive.**

In addition to the text, there was a picture in the data too…

Zef, his beautiful Zef…hands shackled behind her and a metal contraption over her lower face, bruises covering the other visible half of her face. She was lying on a metal floor, eyes shut and unmoving.

**If you want her to live, ditch the Syndicate grunts and come to Irk. I’ll send you more data later.**

Fren gripped his arm rest. “…son of a bitch.”

He didn’t have a choice now…as soon as Risk had set foot off of his ship, Fren raised the boarding ramp. Risk spun around and shouted. “Fren! FREN! What are you doing?!” The _Ranger_ was slowly lifting into the air. “HEY! Somebody close the hangar doors! Now!”

But it was too late, the _Ranger_ had shot out of the cruiser and past the few Syndicate stealth ships still trailing after it. The modified strike ship then accelerated towards Irk, leaving the small fleet in the dust.

Risk managed to reach the bridge of the cruiser. “Damn it…” He sighed. “…good thing I saw this coming.” He looked down at the gauntlet of his armor as it projected a screen showing the signal strength of a tracer he had left aboard the _Ranger_. Now they just had to catch up before Fren ditched the _Ranger_.


	5. The Cable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; Blue belongs to another friend; everyone (and everything) else is mine.

When Zef woke up, it was with an intense throbbing headache and no idea where she was. It wasn’t until she struggled into a sitting position, swaying slightly as she did so, that her memories began to come back. The last thing she could remember clearly was Vithak slamming her head into the wall of the ground transport; after that, her memory was foggy, at best. 

She squinted around the cell, taking note of all its features. It was the size of a standard room, with three solid steel walls around her, with a semi-transparent force field facing out onto the hallway and forming the fourth wall. There was no bed, no furniture of any kind save for a monitor hanging near the ceiling—the rest of the cell was simply cold, hard steel. Her arms were still shackled behind her back, and the muzzle was still attached to the lower part of her face.

Trying desperately to keep from spiraling into a hopeless panic, she awkwardly got to her feet and walked up to the force field to get a better view of the big picture. As she got closer to the force field, she could practically feel electricity charging the air—clearly it was an electric force field. Still, she could get close enough to it to peer down the hallway… at least somewhat. The hall extended in both directions as far as she could see, and was practically littered with guards—both normal Irken guards along with what were clearly super soldiers… along with a few WitchHunters. And, perhaps most frighteningly, just to one side of her cell stood Vithak himself, his back turned to her cell. 

There was something else she noticed, too: as far as she could tell, she seemed to be in a section of the prison dedicated purely to Irken prisoners, and each and every prisoner in sight appeared to have a thick metal cable attached to their Paks. More worryingly, they all had blank, catatonic looks on their faces as if drugged out of their minds. Zef may not have been a genius, but even she was able to put two and two together—clearly, whatever was being pumped in through those giant cables was making the prisoners go catatonic.

All this only spelled doom for her. And, to make it worse, she didn’t know if anybody even knew where she was… which meant she couldn’t rely on any outside help to get her free. She stumbled backwards, trying to keep her wits about her… and failing miserably. All she could focus on was that she was trapped and helpless… and headed straight for death by deletion. For once, there was no clear way out, no hope of escape, and she couldn’t even rely on anybody to come to her aid.

Zef backed against a wall and sunk down, her breath coming only in ragged gasps as her panic spiraled out of control. 

She was jolted back into her right mind when the screen on the wall flared to life, the image of an official-looking Irken man appearing on the screen. 

“Ah, good, you’re awake. Welcome to Albedon,” the Irken said with a smug grin. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you ended up here, Ex-Commander. You’ve become quite a notorious criminal, did you know that? Attacking countless Imperial ships and colonies, stealing, killing, treason… and word has it you’re not only plotting to assassinate the Tallest, but you’re also conspiring with the Syndicate. That’s a whole world of trouble you’re in there, Ex-Commander.”

Even if Zef’s mouth hadn’t been covered, she wouldn’t have said anything. She wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of responding to his obvious taunts.

“What’s the matter? Vort got your tongue?” the Irken sneered, “Or maybe you’ve decided to be a good little defect and cooperate? Either way—oh, where are my manners? I’m Warden Ilion.” He bowed his head mockingly before continuing, “Now. If you’ll be a good girl, we’ll just get your feeding tube all hooked up so you won’t starve to death before your deletion.”

At his words, a circle opened in the ceiling, and one of the cables she had seen in the other cells extended from the now-open hole, snaking down and out towards Zef.

Immediately she knew that she had to do everything in her power to avoid this cable. She needed her mind clear for even the most remote possibilities of escape, and that’d be impossible if the cable got ahold of her. So she did the only thing she could think of; she backed up against a wall, effectively blocking off access to her Pak, and glared at Ilion as if to say ‘fuck you and your cable.’  
   
Ilion gave a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “I was told you were a stubborn one… and now I see they weren’t exaggerating. You’re just making it harder for yourself in the long run, you know.”

If Zef could have flipped him off, she would have; instead, all she could do was glare harder at him, and then switch her attention to the cable as it swung through the air towards her. When it got close enough, she kicked out at it, knocking it away. Instantly, and without warning, an electrical jolt surged through her, making her body stiffen and convulse. Seconds later, it was over, leaving her muscles still twitching sporadically.

“I warned you,” Ilion said coldly, “We took the liberty of adding some… enhancements to those shackles while you were out cold. Keep avoiding the cable, and the shocks will only get worse. Enjoy your stay, rebel.”

******

Fren brought the Ranger closer to Irk and engaged the Stealth Drive built into the ship by his father. Even while being decades older than any unit of its class, the Ranger still operated like it was in its prime. The Armada ships missed him as he made his way to down onto the planet and landed in the barren wastes that separated Irk’s cities and settlements.

As soon as he set down he received another message from Vithak…was he watching them?

**Hold your position. Also, here’s a look at your damsel.**

This time he saw a recording of Zef, on her feet with her restraints still in place. She was trying to avoid something…it was out of view and she looked frightened. But she was alive and moving now, and that was a blessing in itself.

Suddenly something jabbed at her…a cable of sorts. She managed to avoid it, but then suddenly her body shuddered as an electric shock coursed through her. Zef collapsed to her knees, chest heaving as she forced herself back onto her feet.

**Don’t worry. You’ll see her very soon.**

“And then you and Teivol are both dead.” Fren whispered, crushing the arm rest of his chair in his hand. “You took Donthar…you took Zef…you’re all dead…all of you.”

He tore the chair clean out of the floor as he stood up.

“You just don’t _know it yet!_ ” He snarled as he slammed the chair into the back wall of the cockpit.

******

It was easy to lose track of time in Albedon. Zef hadn’t even tried to keep track of how long she had been here—it could have been only a day, or it could have been weeks. There were no windows to judge the passing of time by, and the lighting was kept at a constant level: bright enough to provide decent light to see by, but not too bright to prevent sleep.

Not that Zef was doing much sleeping—the most she could manage was a light doze. She had to keep vigilant, to keep an eye on that damned cable. She wouldn’t let it attach to her, wouldn’t let herself succumb to that catatonic state. Even though she knew there was little to no hope of escape, she couldn’t bring herself to just give in like that.

And Ilion hadn’t been lying—every time she avoided the cable, she was treated to an electrical shock that got more and more powerful every time. At first it had been merely unpleasant, a mere jolt that lasted only seconds. But by now it was getting truly painful; the last shock had left her gasping for air, her hearing ringing as her vision faded momentarily to black, her heart fluttering painfully in her chest. It had taken several seconds after the shock had stopped for her body to stop convulsing… and when it did, Zef was surprised at what she saw.

Or, rather, what she _didn’t_ see. The cable, which had been a constant thorn in her side since its first appearance, was… gone. Retracted back into the ceiling. Still, she didn’t dare breathe a sigh of relief: surely it was just a trick, an attempt to lull her into a false sense of security.

Still, it was almost impossible to keep herself from dozing off: she was hungry, and she hadn’t gotten sleep in who knew how long, and she was hurt and terrified, and it was exhausting. Try as she might, she was unable to stay awake for longer than a few minutes before dozing off, her back still up against the wall.

But even that small amount of peace was short-lived as a voice interrupted her rest what seemed like mere minutes after she had dozed off.

“Zef? Oh god, Zef, what’d ya get yerself into now?”

She recognized it instantly. It was Donthar’s voice. Which could only mean that she was dreaming. Donthar may have been part of her rebel group, but he was nowhere near high enough priority to land himself in Albedon. She tried to say something in response to him, but her mouth wouldn’t move. Why wouldn’t it move?

“Silence, Vortian! Let your superiors speak.” The voice was one that Zef didn’t quite recognize… which meant that it wasn’t one she had heard before. Confused, Zef opened her eyes… to find that it hadn’t been a dream. Donthar was standing on the other side of the force field, flanked on one side by a tall, blue-eyed Irken she recognized from broadcasts on TV as being Tallest Candidate Blue, and on the other by none other than Teivol.

But the two Irkens barely registered in her mind. She was too ecstatic to see Donthar, alive and well, here before her very eyes. Before she had a chance to think about what she was doing, she had leapt to her feet and charged across the cell, fully intending on enduring whatever shock the force field would give her, if only she could reunite with Donthar.

Unfortunately, her plan didn’t work out; as soon as she touched the force field, she was sent tumbling backwards with a loud _bang!_

“Idiot,” sneered Teivol, staring disdainfully down at her. 

As soon as her vision stopped swimming from the shock, she looked back up at the three standing before her cell… and for the first time, she noticed what Donthar was wearing. He wasn’t clad in his usual sage green shorts—nor did he have his trademark goggles on. Instead, he was wearing a white loincloth, a sweeping white collar, and golden jewelry… including a pair of golden shackles that were attached to a length of chain held by Blue.

“The Warden informed me that you were being problematic, as usual,” Teivol said, examining the tips of his fingers as if disinterested in her. “He tells me that that last shock was powerful enough it actually stopped your pathetic little heart for a few seconds.”

Zef blinked, surprised at this news… and confused as to why Teivol had decided to show up just to tell her that.

“So I was brought down to give permission for an alternate procedure. You _need_ your food, or else you’ll waste away before I can get that public execution I’ve been working so hard towards, and that’d be _such_ a disappointment.” The sly look on Teivol’s face told Zef that he was clearly aware of whatever sedatives were mixed in with the food, and that he knew she knew.

But then, surprisingly, Donthar spoke up.

“I hate to agree with the talkin’ dick but he’s got a point! It’s just food—it ain’t worth killin’ yerself over, an’ ya ain’t gonna be able to get outta here on an empty stomach!”

Zef shook her head, trying to tell him what she had seen, trying to get him to turn around and look at all the catatonic Irkens all around them, but of course she couldn’t say a word.

Blue yanked on the chain attached to Donthar’s wrists, jerking him forward. “You weren’t given permission to speak, slave!” he barked.

“Get offa me ya big lug!” Donthar shot back, kicking out at Blue, “I dun toldja, I ain’t yer goddamn slave!”

Donthar yanked on the chain, straining against the cuffs; though Blue had the advantage of size, Donthar had more muscle mass, and he was slowly winning the game of tug-of-war… until Blue pulled a small device from his pocket, flicking a switch on it. The device instantly began to rapidly flash light, and Zef knew what was going to happen a second before it did.

Donthar’s body stiffened and then toppled over, convulsing in a violent seizure. Zef winced and looked away, unable to watch her friend in such suffering. 

“… _As I was saying,_ ” Teivol said disdainfully, “The next shock would likely kill you, and we can’t have that. So I’ve given permission for an alternate method, and I wanted to be here personally to witness it. I will warn you, it’ll be immensely painful, so this is your last chance to take the easy way out.” There was no hint of compassion in his voice—in fact, he sounded almost gleeful at the possibility of excruciating pain for Zef. Then again, that was nothing new.

Her response was to glare in vehement hatred at Teivol… and his response was that mirthless, sadistic grin of his.

Once again, a hole opened up in the ceiling, and that infernal cable dropped down, twisting through the air towards her. Immediately, she backed up against the wall again… but the cable kept advancing.

Then, with a sudden burst of speed, it rammed into her stomach, knocking the air out of her lungs.

As she gasped for air, the cable—as thick as her thigh—shot out several spikes, anchoring itself into her skin. She let out a scream of agony, the sound only slightly muffled by the muzzle clamped over her mouth. 

But the cable wasn’t done yet; she felt its center twist against her skin, and then push… and then, suddenly, there was a sharp pain as it broke through the skin, burrowing through flesh and muscle until it located her stomach and attached to the organ.

The pain was unbearable, and overwhelming; she could feel blood running down her stomach and pooling on the floor below her, but… slowly, that sensation—along with all others—faded away. The last thing she was aware of before the sedatives took effect was the sound of Teivol’s cruel laughter, and Donthar’s voice screaming her name.


	6. Ghosts of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; everyone (and everything) else is mine.

Fren was staring at the main screen with wide eyes. He had been holding his position, as per Vithak’s instructions and suddenly had received this latest video…

Zef…his beautiful Zef…sitting in a corner with a cable buried into her stomach. Her eyes were clouded over.

Suddenly the image changed to show that demon that had haunted him since he first saw it in his childhood. That damned grin, those bloody eyes the dead white flesh…

Vithak waved. “ _Hello again Fren! My oh my…you’ve grown! You’re as big as daddy now, aren’t you? Bigger, I’d wager._ ” He put on a show of sounding genuinely impressed. “ _Oh wait, I said the same thing last time we met; but it still just amazes me. The first time I met you, you were a tiny little wet ball of flesh and bones by the time I left; and now you’re bigger than me! It seems unreal sometimes…coming back from the dead, but then again we’ve both been there._ ”

He sighed. “ _I won’t keep you for long Fren…I know you want your mate back. I really want to arrange a meeting for us, but I know you’ll only come if she’s here…so I tell you what: I’m going to send you our coordinates once they start moving her tomorrow. You can come, the air escort following my convoy will be disabled and you’ll have a clear path to the exact transport where we’ll be waiting._ ” Vithak leaned his head onto one palm. “ _Now I know you think I’m lying Fren but…that’s the thing about me: I never lie. I could skim the truth a bit, but I solemnly swear that both Zef and I, both very much alive and well—at least I’ll be well anyways, your girlfriend has seen better days._ ”

Fren growled. “When I find you I’ll-”

“ _Anyways she’ll be alive and kicking by the time you find us!_ ” Vithak continued. “ _Just don’t bring Wrath or any of your friends and all you have to do is meet me face to face. You know I won’t kill her to spite you, not when she has a much more painful death waiting for her at the Spire of Judgment. I’m just going to be there so she can see a repeat of a home video that I showed her._ ”

Those final words made Fren’s pulse race. “Video…you…” He grabbed the view screen. “You son of a bitch! You showed her…”

“ _Mini-You? Dying?_ ” Vithak tilted his head…and laughed. “ _You know it! I told her that I’d help her get used to seeing you die; and what better way than a nice little video tutorial on how to cope with that?_ ” He calmed down. “ _Now Fren…you know what you have to do. Just bring those big pretty eyes of yours over when I send you the coordinates, and the only thing you’ll have to worry about…is me._ ”

The WitchHunter winked. “ _I’ll be waiting._ ”

The transmission cut out.

Fren finally released a breath. “Zef…I’m so sorry…” He looked down at the floor, shutting his eyes as he thought about how she had been forced to see him die. To this day people would still say that it was not his fault that he and his brother had died: he had been a child, he had been too young to do anything…too weak.

But it was now back to hurt him and now his lover…it was being used to torment Zef.

They might say he was not at fault, but in Fren’s eyes he would always be the one who had failed to save his little brother…to save himself. To Fren Rikson, it was all his fault and nothing would ever be good enough to change that.

But saving Zef would still make him feel a hell of a lot better.

******

Teivol had remained behind to savor a sight that had taken far too long to become reality: that of his long-time obsession and nemesis Zef staring at him with clouded-over eyes, on her knees in Imperial custody. It had been about an hour since the feeding tube had forced its way into her through her stomach, and Blue had left with his slave. Now Teivol only had the feared super soldier known as Vithak for company, and truth be even he found the albino Irken to be downright creepy despite how they shared the same satisfied smirk and stance with their arms crossed.

“Justice, at last.” Teivol said, purring a bit as he took another glance at Zef’s vulnerable and humiliating position. 

“Not justice, just business.” Vithak shook his head. “Then again if one loves their job enough they need not ever truly work a day in their lives, so I would call this… _pleasure._ ”

“Indeed... But there is still the matter of the Raiders and the Syndicate.” Teivol pointed out, glancing up at the taller Irken. “Taking the Vortian will antagonize them for sure, but they likely know Zef is here and are planning to rescue her.”

“Oh they will, but Zef’s mate will be the one to find her.” Vithak leaned against the bars of the cell, the security field having been deactivated thanks to Zef finally being incapacitated. “I made sure of that.”

This set off an alarm in Teivol’s head. “… What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“When Fren Rikson arrives on transport 34-L, I want you to make sure all of the guards on board are moved to the lower levels while Zef is stored in the highest of the holding areas,” Vithak looked at Teivol. “You’re in charge of her transfer, and I have a job of my own that has to be done. I would advise you cooperate.”

“You’re talking about letting the Syndicate find out where she is and endangering myself along with giving them a chance to rescue her!” Teivol hissed as he turned Vithak around and shoved him against the bars. “You are talking about trea-” Suddenly Teivol’s mouth was covered by a hand, and he was slammed into the bars as Vithak swapped positions with him.

“Second Commander, I am not certain if you are truly aware of the present situation.” Vithak whispered. “And I don’t want you tossing around words like that, not because I feel for my own safety but because it would likely impede my efforts to rid the Empire of a definite threat and strike a blow to Wrath’s Syndicate. Fren Rikson is one of Wrath’s strongest soldiers and most capable officers, but his fatal flaw is that he runs off alone, like Zef did. The only difference is that _you_ won’t be able to capture him, much less contain him.”

Vithak stepped back with a smile. “However, I know that the Empire doesn’t waste time laying judgment upon a freak like him…which is why I was authorized to kill him once when he was young, and why Imperial Command has ordered me to ensure that he does not come back a second time.” He pulled out a hilt which he began to twirl between his fingers and lightly toss into the air and catch like a ball. “I never leave a job half finished, Teivol…I think you can appreciate that, considering Fren did humiliate you all those years ago.”

The memory of that first encounter with Fren still burned in Teivol’s memories; while he had told himself that he would make the Irken pay, Teivol was eventually forced to admit that Fren simply could not be used as ammunition against Zef. But now there was a rare opportunity for the opposite, for Zef to play the bait and draw Fren into a trap. But still…this was against everything Teivol held dearly in regards to serving the Empire, and if it failed…

“If this fails, it could ruin me.” Teivol whispered to Vithak. "But...if you say that this will work, and that Zef and her freak of a mate will be dead by the end of it then..." He nodded as Vithak backed off. "...I could make a call and see this happen. But only if you can guarantee that you won't mess up and rob me of this chance. I've been waiting far too long just to let Zef slip away now."

Vithak suddenly snorted and then began to laugh. Teivol, who usually was respectful of his superiors regardless of their origins, was finding it hard to like this super soldier at all. While loyal to the Empire, Vithak seemed to care more for himself and his own goals; the Empire may as well have been a means to and end for the feared WitchHunter.

"As if you haven't already messed up enough opportunities." Vithak said after he finally regained control of himself. "How many times has she escaped you at the last minute? How many times have you given her the chance to slip away or be rescued?" He sighed and straightened out his coat. "But seeing as we have a deal, I won't have to worry about that happening. Fren will die, Zef will be all yours."

"And you think that you can really kill him then?" Teivol resumed staring at Zef. "I sent a whole army against him and they barely slowed him down."

Vithak nodded. "He is formidable, but unconventional tactics have been shown to cause more harm. However I have one of the few things that can cause damage to even Fren's... _beast form_. A very special blade that dates back to the pre-Impending Doom days of old empires."

"I'd sooner just blow the whole transport with him on it, to be honest," Teivol admitted. "But then again, making Zef wake up just in time to see her freak of a mate die would be...very satisfying for me." He glanced at Vithak. "If I might ask, what exactly is this blade?"

He saw Vithak catch the hilt one last time, and then turn it over in his grip. He tapped the base of the hilt with his thumb, and a long invisible blade that crackled with energy appeared. The sparks flying off of it were the only indication of the blade's presence. "Say hello," Vithak chuckled, deactivating the Micro-Filament Projection blade, a weapon that could cut into the hull of a star ship like butter. "Rest assured Teivol...I never leave a job half finished."

Glancing at the cell one last time, Vithak commented. "I have to admit...I'm wishing you'd kept your mouth shut rather than report her as a defective all those years ago. Before that she had been a loyal enough commander with an impressive record. Now because of her banishment a whole rebel group has been formed from the most... _unlikely_ of individuals." He glanced down at Teivol. "Tell me...do you ever regret turning her in?"

With a scoff, Teivol grinned and replied. "The only regret I have is not having insisted she be deleted on the spot! I could’ve saved myself a lot of trouble."

"...You know, I think you might be a teensy bit more likable now." Vithak admitted. "...Just a bit."

******

Somewhere deep within the recesses of her drug-addled mind, Zef’s memory stirred. Triggered perhaps by Teivol’s presence, or perhaps by a dim, subconscious awareness of the topic of his conversation, she was taken back through her life; before meeting Fren, before all the pain and torture and betrayals, before forming the Raiders… all the way back to when she was still a Commander in the Imperial Armada.

Unaware of her true surroundings, it was as if she was back in the moment, as if she was actually standing there among a row of other soldiers, faces that were familiar but long-forgotten surrounding her.

It was the graduation ceremony. She stood proud and erect, her arm held up in a stiff salute as the General before them gave his speech and called them up one by one, shouting out their names and ranks… and giving out their first assignments. Most were being sent to already-conquered worlds to either take care of the last of the natives, or to keep a firm grip on worlds that were at risk of being lost. 

When her name was called, a thrill of excitement (and just a little dread) shot through Zef. She dropped her salute and marched up to the podium. 

“For exemplary tactical genius and an extraordinary ability to minimize our own losses, Commander Zef, you will be receiving your assignment from the Tallest themselves!” the General called out. “Most of your squad has been chosen for you, with the exception of your second in command. Who do you choose as your second?”

“Sir! I would like to request Soldier Teivol as my second, for his efficiency in battle and his tenacity!” she replied; she flicked her gaze out to the line of soldiers and watched as Teivol puffed out his chest in pride. His maroon eyes, not yet dominated by the ice-blue implants that he would get later in life, showed a fierce determination that Zef admired… even though it occasionally set her nerves on edge. He already had the tattoo of the Irken symbol between his eyes, but had not yet gotten the other tattoo of his personal symbol… but even without those few traits, he still had the same air of arrogance and intimidation that he had even to the present, despite his slightly smaller stature.

She had known Teivol for most of her time in the Academy; she admired him for his ability to do what she could not, to make the decision for sacrifice when she couldn’t. And she knew that having him on her squad would be the perfect combination; she could deal with the tactical side, while he could deal with the merciless side of battle. And he had appeared to show a keen interest in her, impressed perhaps by her natural ability to lead.

 

That first mission was the hardest. It was different, fighting an enemy in reality as opposed to the simulations the Academy used. She had never imagined that it’d be so hard to kill… She didn’t sleep for at least a week afterwards, the images of the dying aliens, of the mothers and fathers and children screaming as their families and their homes were destroyed around them. It was the first time she suspected there was something wrong with her… none of her other team members seemed to have the same feeling of remorse. They all celebrated the team’s first victory, while she had to pretend to celebrate the senseless loss of so much life.

But she kept telling herself it was for a good cause. She kept telling herself that the Armada’s cause was a good one, that they had to take over these planets for their own good. They deserved it.

 

By her third mission she could no longer fool herself. She barely got any sleep anymore, haunted in her nightmares by the wailing faces of the lives she had taken, and for what? Because of the Tallests’ endless thirst for glory and conquest. She hated what she had done, hated the Empire for making her do it, hated herself and the entire Empire for being too blind to see what was really going on… but, still, there was hope somewhere. She remembered tales of Tallests in the past with more mercy than Red and Purple… and she had a plan for how she could change things from the inside out, subtly, without anyone knowing what she was doing. All she had to do was keep on fooling everyone—keep them from finding out her motives, and, most importantly, keep them from finding out what she was.

Defective.

Her plan was simple, really; all she had to do was convince the Tallest to let her enslave planets’ inhabitants instead of killing them. She would appeal to their sense of Irken pride: more alien slaves meant that Irkens would not have to do the more menial tasks and would be free to do more noble work. As for the slaves… well, it wasn’t something she would intentionally wish on anyone, but at least they would be alive, and at least they’d have a chance at freedom. In death, they wouldn’t even have that.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t as good at pretending as she thought she was.


	7. The Transport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; everyone (and everything) else is mine.

Fren had landed the _Ranger_ at one of the spaceports in Irk’s capital that had dock masters paid off by the Syndicate to look the other way and not alert the Imperial network to a ship like the _Ranger_ arriving at the heart of the interstellar super power. He took only what he needed from it, such as weapons and equipment along with a spare set of clothes in the event that he had to transform at any point, and then left it unlocked for when Wrath showed up. He knew the Syndicate leader would be arriving soon, but he had to stall until Vithak contacted him again and sent him the information he needed; to that end Fren was sitting in a bar just off of the star port.

It was overly fancy, far too many bright pulsing lights that would send somebody into a seizure and filled to the brim with loyalists. Fren had taken a moment to change his eye color from teal to red and modified the shape of his antennae a bit so that he would be harder to recognize before stepping inside. He produced a false ID and sat quietly in one corner for nearly an hour, his thoughts consumed by the idea that his wife was being held in a prison that not even the Syndicate could infiltrate unseen. 

What were they doing to her, torturing her? Or would they save any interrogation or torture for after her sentencing, right before they deactivated her Pak? The only comfort was that as long as she didn’t enter the Spire of Judgment she could be saved. Once inside the impenetrable fortress nothing short of a full invasion would have a chance of helping her...and Wrath wouldn’t commit those kinds of resources even if the Syndicate and Raiders combined had the numbers and ships for it. He would have to be fast and not let anything get in his way when the time came; Vithak would not let this happen without Fren being present...the man was obsessed with finishing the job he had fulfilled in Fren’s childhood. While both Fren and Ouri were alive, Vithak would do everything he could to bring them to him and kill them far from any allies and on his terms.

“Come on then,” Fren softly growled through his clenched teeth. “I know you want me to come for her...you know I’ll come even if it’s a trap.” He finished his third drink and slid the glass across the table he had taken up by himself, his eyes locked onto his communicator. “So talk to me you nut job...”

Another silver lining that kept Fren from despairing was the chance to pay Vithak back for what he had done. Fren had watched Ouri drown next to him first, and spent the last few moments of his first life in despair that he’d failed to protect his little brother; Vithak would pay for every second of pain Fren had suffered in that short time span.

_Beep!_

Fren was torn from thoughts of murdering Vithak and the scum who captured Zef by his communicator receiving a message. He immediately answered it and saw Vithak appear clear and visible on the screen, his signature smirk on his albino face while his red eyes were narrowed.

“ _Hello, child,_ ” He said. “ _It’s been a long time since we had a real conversation without any covers or fake identities; I’m looking to correct that soon. You see Fren...I am going to tell you exactly where Zef is._ ” He reached out and tilted the camera to show Zef in a new room but restrained in a similar way except for her feeding tube now being connected to a mobile machine that hovered inches off of the ground. Her metallic muzzle had also been removed, allowing Fren to see her blank expression as her eyes stared sightlessly back at the camera used to record this. “ _And here’s further proof that I am a man of my word. She is alive and... somewhat well._ ”

Vithak rose to his feet and walked towards the camera, picking it up and keeping it aimed at his face. “ _Okay Frenny, here is how this works. Zef is going to be on board a convoy travelling west towards the Traitor’s Spire so it can circle around back south later to head for the Spire of Judgment. You can hit it when it passes through a dense storm out in the wastelands that will keep orbital sensors from detecting your approach and mask your ship until you’re right on top of the convoy. She will be in the third transport, with me as her company and your host._ ”

He chuckled. “ _I hope you’re punctual Fren, I really do. Because you see...if you_ don’t _show up, your girlfriend is going to_ wish _that I gave her over to the Empire. Believe me, it’s not that I want to cause her agony...it’s just fun enough and as an added bonus it teaches you a lesson about keeping your appointments._ ”

He stroked Zef’s antennae back with one hand as she tilted her head a bit, almost aware of the contact. “ _Shh shh...._ ” Vithak hushed her as a lazy groan escaped from Zef’s mouth. “ _There...it’ll break my heart to do it, it really will, but I am a firm believer in teaching the youth of today responsibility, commitment..._ ” One of his fingers left a thin line of blood on Zef’s cheek. “ _And_ discipline.”

“Son of a bitch, get your hands off her.” Fren hissed, having to fight down the Beast as it roared inside his head.

“ _The convoy leaves in one hour now...I can guess you’re on Irk...don’t try and pretend otherwise, I know you Fren Rikson._ ” Vithak’s smile faded. “ _I know you because I saw your true self right before you died...and I have to admit for a smeet it was impressive. But it told me one thing...you cannot stand me hurting someone close to you...and that is why I know you’re going to be there._ ” He leaned in. “ _And that is why I am going to be waiting for you. We’re going to settle a little...issue you’ve caused me with your resurrection. And right before it’s settled, I will let Zef see just what I’m going to do to you before she’s carted off._ ”

His mouth slowly split back into its usual grin, lips drawn back to show sharp teeth. “ _I’m a man of my word._ ”

The recording ended.

Fren immediately stood up, but a hand on each shoulder stopped him. He snarled and twisted free, facing his aggressors only to pause as he recognized them both. “You...how did you find me?” His eyes widened in shock.

******

The transport convoy was flying about twenty feet over the flat grounds of the Irken wastelands. They had left Albedon only a while ago, and the entire time the convoy’s onboard compliment of soldiers and the escorting fighters had been on guard; they knew that the Syndicate and Raiders would both be coming for Zef, making this an opportunity to take down some high priority rebels...

And a risk that they themselves would be dead by the end of the hour.

“Sir,” The pilot of transport 32-L called from the spacious cockpit of the leading transport. “We have increased magnetic distortions up ahead. Satellite coverage is gone in that area and our fighters won’t be able to maintain a stable flight pattern.”

“I know.” Vithak replied calmly, standing in the midst of the third transport in the convoy, which numbered at eight in total. “Relax Lieutenant, just have the fighters pull away and regroup with us on the far side of the storm. If they can’t follow us in there, a rebel ship certainly won’t be able to.”

Seeing the sense in these words, the Convoy Commander nodded and had the line of transports plow ahead while all sixteen Irken Voot runners pulled away to let the transports proceed alone through the violent cloud of dust, which lit up with lightning every few moments. While they lacked satellite guidance, the vehicles’ onboard computers automatically linked to numerous ground sensors which allowed them to determine north from south and create a digital map with 80% accuracy, allowing the convoy to proceed along their general route with little time lost.

As the final vehicle vanished into the storm they lost all contact with the outside world.

They never knew that their escort fighters had been shot down one by one afterwards since they had strayed from their proper trail, leaving the flaming wreckages out of view. After the final Voot was blasted out of the air in the midst of trying to call for help, the Ranger shot by, diving into the clouds. Sensors tried to pierce the powerful storm, which threatened to fry every system aboard the star ship; but after diving close to the ground and hacking into the ground sensors, the pilot had a clear view of the convoy just a few hundred feet on the left.

Pulling up and moving over to take position over the convoy, the ship held a steady position almost thirty feet above the second transport in the line. A hatch opened in the belly of the ship as the gunners on the transports were left unaware, not able to see the shadow cast over them due to the storm blocking out the sun entirely. They never saw a line drop down through the hatch and flap in the wind, nor were they aware of a single figure that threw itself out into the open and slid along the line at speeds that would burn the skin off of anybody holding it.

Suddenly all but the first three transports no longer received signals from the ground sensors, and were forced to slow to a stop after the fourth transport lost sight of the third. A program transferred from the Ranger had quickly seen to this act of sabotage, and allowed the man swinging from the Ranger to land right on the roof of the third transport. One gunner began to turn, catching a glimpse of the figure...

And only saw a fist smash through the canopy of his firing nest before he was flung from the safety of the transport and crashed to the ground below, unable to see or breathe clearly in the thick storm. Meanwhile Fren climbed into the gunner’s seat. The other three gunners posted on the roof noticed the disturbance at their absent comrade’s position and were turning towards it to get a better look.

With a smirk, Fren set one hand on the control panel. Green light lit up every circuit beneath the cool metal, and after he pulled his hand away the empty turret began to turn on its own. It unleashed a single blast, twin globules of plasma energy that slammed into one of the other turrets, blowing it apart while Fren climbed down into the transport itself. The other two gunners were taken off guard, and thanks to Fren overriding the safety protocols on the hijacked turret’s servos the gun was able to turn at speeds that would leave any gunner dizzy and blast the other two in quick succession.

“Sir, there’s something going on back on 34-L.”  One of the after roof gunners on the second transport, 33-L reported. “I see visible energy discharges from the turrets.”

The pilot of the second transport grunted as he grabbed for his communicator. “34-L, you have reported activity on your roof.”

“We heard it!” the third pilot responded. “We just lost three of our turrets!”

The second transport shook as the one remaining turret raised itself up and turned, firing down on the second transport. The gunners were taken off guard, losing two of their number to numerous and rapidly fired blasts of plasma. The other two closer to the front of the second transport tried to fire back, and after several moments managed to blow the hacked turret into pieces.

“34-L be advised, you may have intruders on board!”

“I already called security, but nobody’s responding!”

******

Still mostly oblivious to the outside world, Zef’s mind continued on its trip through the past—though, more and more, she was being pulled out of the memories. Now she was simply remembering instead of purely reliving the past… and she could swear that at one point she actually felt something scraping along her cheek, something that was not part of her memories. But still, she remembered…

Almost four years after she had graduated from the Academy, Zef found herself in chains. It was the first time, but it would not be the last. 

Everything had seemed fine when she had approached the Tallest requesting that her mission be changed from an elimination mission to one of enslavement. She had convinced the Tallest that the planet’s inhabitants, four-eyed beings known as Ciujins, would be invaluable as slaves, and could replace Irkens in the menial jobs. After all, the noble Irkens were more suited for better things than servant work. 

And the mission had gone smooth—or, as smooth as could be expected. Sure, there had been casualties—on both sides, for the Ciujins had fought hard—but in the end, Zef and her team had won. The surviving Ciujins were put into submission, exported from their planet before the planet was destroyed. Zef had returned with her team, ready to celebrate; it was the first time she had ever actually been happy about accomplishing a mission. She didn’t have the blood of millions on her hands and her conscience this time.

But then everything went wrong. As soon as she set foot on the Massive, she was swarmed by a group of Imperial guards. They surrounded her, and, before she even knew what was going on, they had handcuffed her arms behind her back and were dragging her through the halls without a word.

“Hey! What the hell’s going on?! I demand to be told why I’m being arrested! Do you have any idea who I am?!” she had challenged, doing her best to struggle free. But the guards had said nothing, dragging her straight to the Tallest’s feet.

“My Tallest! Please! What’s going on, I’ve done nothing wrong! I’m loyal, I swear, I—”  
“Silence!” Purple had snapped.

“You’re under charges of being Defective. We have enough evidence to justify a Pak scan—” Red began, before Zef had interrupted.

“D-defective?! N-no, you… I’m loyal I swear! What evidence do you have?! I’ve—I’ve done everything I was supposed to, I’ve conquered all the planets you told me to, I even got you a whole planet’s worth of slaves!”

“SILENCE!!” Purple had roared again, signaling to the guards behind Zef, who then backhanded Zef in the face. “We said we have enough evidence for a Pak scan—if you’re not defective, you have nothing to worry about.”

“So what’s the problem? The scan doesn’t even hurt,” Red had added, raising an eyebrow.

Zef remembered that she had been speechless, her heart racing. She had figured out by now that she was defective—Irkens weren’t supposed to feel remorse for non-Irkens, weren’t supposed to hate having to kill. And yet she had nightmares of the faces of every life she had ever had to end… And now she was trapped. She couldn’t decline the Pak scan; that would be like admitting outright that she was defective. But if she submitted to the scan…

“F-fine,” she finally said, puffing out her chest and trying to look brave. Maybe there was a chance they wouldn’t detect her defective status…Maybe there was a chance she wasn’t actually defective. 

She had desperately held on to this small hope as the guards had dragged her up to the stairs, forced her down onto her knees, and held her in place in front of a giant screen as it extended a giant cable that hooked into her Pak. She had stiffened as the scan began, searching through her memories, her feelings, her very thoughts.

And then, a cold, metallic voice spoke the words that had changed her life forever.  
“ _Scan complete. Subject found to be defective: Unsuitable for further military action._ ”

To this day, Zef didn’t remember being unhooked from the scanner, didn’t remember being dragged away or being thrown in a cell; all she remembered was the feeling as if her world had shattered, the swirling storm of fear and desperation that had clouded over everything else. She remembered screaming at the Tallest, begging them to reconsider, sobbing and pleading for her life, trying to reason with them—she had been a good soldier, better than most, hadn’t she? She had followed orders even though they had torn her apart inside…

But it hadn’t helped. She had found herself, some time later, stuck in a prison cell and awaiting her judgment. It was now up to the Control Brains whether she would live reprogrammed as a lowly worker, shunted off where the Empire could ignore her existence… or whether she would be deleted, put on display for the entire Empire to watch as she slowly died.

She hadn’t waited to find out.

 

Suddenly, in the midst of her reverie, her mind stirred again… and a sharp pain tore through her midsection. It took her foggy mind a few moments to remember why, to remember the tube that had violently rammed its way through skin and muscle into her stomach.

It took her a few seconds more to remember why that had happened, and longer still to remember what her goal had been before. Though her mind was content to wander through the past on its own, it was nearly impossible to direct into a coherent direction… and she still couldn’t see or hear what was going on around her, outside of her mind.

But then, suddenly, she remembered; she had thrown herself into harm’s way to rescue Donthar from the Empire’s grasp. Because, so many years ago, he had done the same for her.

She stirred slightly, fighting to break out of the fog that kept her prisoner in her own mind. For a brief second, she thought she felt her eyes move, thought she caught the briefest glimpses of the outside world. A flash of white, a streak of movement…

And then she fell, tumbling, back into the dark recesses of her mind—a mind that was waking up slowly, swirling in chaos as the floodgates opened.


	8. Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; everyone (and everything) else is mine.

Thud!

The final member of the security team posted on the lower level of the transport where Zef was being held fell to the floor, his head twisted around, his helmet hiding how damaged his neck was and the frightened look on his face. Vithak hummed as he stepped past the six dead guards towards the bars of the cell containing Zef. Her eyes were fluttering, indicating that she was slowly coming out of the chemically induced comatose state she had been in.

 _“Good, right on schedule._ ” Vithak dusted his hands off...before glancing down at the blood staining them. _“Hm...I’d best wash up, want to look my best for the reunion, don’t I?_ ”

***

The soldiers in the upper areas of the transport were not fairing much better. Fren had swung down from the hole leading to the gunner’s nest moments before the turret above had exploded and slammed both of his feet into the face of a guard who had come to investigate. Before the man had even finished stumbling over, clutching at his face and failing thanks to his shattered visor Fren had landed in a crouch at the base of the ladder leading up to the nest. He then rushed forward, veins of green light springing to life beneath the flesh of his right arm before he punched the Irken hard enough to shatter his helmet and send him flying into a wall hard enough to break his neck with a sickening snap of vertebrae.

Several more guards came to investigate, and froze as they recognized this man from their briefing. Green veins of energy pulse beneath his skin and through his clothing as his eyes lit up, glaring venomously at those in his way. His hands began to change first, becoming claws while his arms started to bulge.

“Alright then...” Fren whispered, advancing on the frightened soldiers who had heard of the massacre he had caused the first time he met Teivol. “Would you like to drop your weapons, get some oxygen masks and jump out of this rig yourself? Or should you just shoot at me and pray your toy guns save you?”

One guard raised his rifle in response and unleashed a frightened and furious scream, firing into Fren as his form began to grow, ripping his clothing as a bloodthirsty smirk crossed his face.

“Oh by Irk...” Fren growled. “I was hoping you’d choose this. I have a **lot of anger to vent!** ” He roared before finally unleashing the Beast once more. The soldiers screamed as they opened fire into the lumbering mass right before it reached them.

And Fren reminded them and anyone who found their bodies in the future what happened when his beloved was threatened.  


***

  
As the sedatives began to wear off, Zef’s mind became more and more active… though not in a helpful way. Her mind was a swirling chaos of panic and confusion, and she was lost in the raging storm.

She remembered, years ago, after escaping the Massive on a stolen ship, crash landing on a planet just outside of the Irken Empire’s rule, only to be ganged up on by the planet’s inhabitants and thrown into another jail cell. 

She remembered begging, pleading with the inhabitants—a small colony of Empire fugitives—trying to convince them that she wasn’t with the Empire, to no avail. 

She remembered the hatred she felt for everything, hatred like nothing she had ever felt before. The Empire had turned on her, the Tallest had abandoned her and branded her as a criminal, and now these people were treating her no better, even though she had done nothing wrong. She hated the Empire, she hated the Tallest, she hated this colony, and, most of all, she hated being held prisoner like this. 

If it hadn’t been for the actions of one small, dark-skinned, green-horned Vortian, she would have kept on hating everything. He had been the lone soul in the colony who had bothered to help, the sole person who had shown her any sort of compassion, the sole person who had believed her claims of innocence. He had bothered to come and talk to her, and keep her company those long days when she was stuck in the prison cell with nothing but her thoughts and her rage as company.

In a way, it was just like her current situation; alone in captivity, lost in her thoughts. The only difference was, this time she didn’t have Donthar…

And this time, she was on her way to die.

But then again, she hadn’t exactly been safe back then, either—Donthar was the only thing that had stood in the way of the colonists ripping her to shreds.

And then Teivol had showed up, having somehow miraculously found her in the cold expanses of space. She remembered with a bitter pang of irony that she had been so excited when he had showed up. She had been convinced he was there to save her…  
Until he had left her tied up once she was on board his ship. He hadn’t even bothered to hide his motivations—he had told her then, flat-out, that he had been the one who had accused her of being defective, and that now he was taking her to be deleted.

Of course, he hadn’t made it—Donthar had tracked them down and rescued her…

And she had managed to avoid being deleted for close to a decade afterwards. All up until now—she could almost sense how close she was to death. And suddenly she realized she could feel movement—not just in her memories, but in reality. It felt as if… as if she was on a ship of some kind! 

Which could only mean death was near.  


  
***

By the time Fren made it down to the lowest level of the transport, there was no one left alive. With a snarl, he tore through the floor itself—his form was too bulky to descend the normal way. He landed heavily on the floor, his weight and his vicious claws denting the metal floor.

Before him, he saw a row of cells... and there, finally, was Zef, in the flesh. It was a relief to see her physically there instead of just a recording or a picture of her, and for a moment his form shifted, softened... but then he truly noticed the state she was in—the fact that her stomach had started bleeding anew, the numerous bruises dotting her skin, and her glazed vision—and his form solidified back into its Beast form, growing spines which bristled in anger. How dare they treat her like this?

 _“How nice of you to finally show up~”_ hummed a voice behind him... right before a sharp pain pierced his hide. The effect was immediate; Fren doubled over, his form twisting and writhing... and shrinking. He heaved, shuddering and feeling oddly feeble and confined.

 _“It's only fair to level the playing field a bit, don't you think? A nice little injection to nullify those pesky nano-genes of yours should do the trick,”_ Vithak said, grabbing Fren by the back of his neck and hoisting him up. Desperately, Fren tried to shift back into his Beast form... but nothing happened.

 _“No more beastly shenanigans for you. Fight me man to man, whelp,”_ Vithak snarled. To punctuate his words, he lifted Fren off his feet and tossed him into the nearest cell; the bars bent from the impact and Fren stumbled to the ground, disoriented and still shaking from the aftereffects of that injection.

And then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye—Zef stirred, the noise having disturbed her slightly even through the tranquilizers. Just seeing her there was enough to re-focus Fren.

“I don't need nano-genes to beat you!” Fren growled, launching himself at Vithak and slamming into the albino Irken.

_“That's the spirit! Show me what you're made of, kid!”_


	9. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; everyone (and everything) else is mine.

All that Zef could do was sit there, trapped in her own body and watch the fearsome battle. Blood stained the floor mere feet from her cell as the almost feral grunts and yells of the two combatants rang in her antennae. It was almost frightening to see Fren like this after seeing his gentle and tender side, but she knew all too well of the Beast persona that drove him in battle; she didn't have to be a genius to know that the Beast was in control even if Fren could not assume that form.

Of course, she wasn’t afraid of the Beast form—no, what frightened her was the fight itself, and just how helpless she was to do anything to stop it. Time and again, Fren had come to her rescue, but now when he needed her, when he was at his weakest without the use of his Nano-genes, against the man that had killed him before and that was using a weapon against him that could do actual, permanent damage… she could barely even move.

But she _had_ to—and she was getting closer. Just minutes ago she hadn’t been able to even move her eyes, but with every passing moment she was gaining more and more control over her body, adrenaline kicking in to purge the sedatives from her body as quickly as possible. 

Even with this added speed, however, she worried that it wouldn’t be fast enough. She was left with only the ability to watch as the two super warriors clashed outside her cell, praying that Fren would survive. He had been faring well so far, despite his handicaps—she had no doubt that if he had been at full strength, Fren would have been more than a match for Vithak. But even now, Fren was holding his own against the super-powered WitchHunter; he dodged a blow from the albino, then used Vithak’s momentum against him to slam the WitchHunter into the bars of the cell Zef was in. Fren grabbed Vithak by the antennae, pulling back before slamming Vithak into the bars again and again until the bars began to bend inwards. And then, with one final mighty blow, the cell door gave in, sending Vithak tumbling across the floor. 

Vithak wasn’t about to give up, though; he gave a wild, barking laugh as he rolled to his feet, pulling himself up to his full height to stand beside Zef. 

_“That’s what I’m talking about! This is the kind of challenge I’ve been looking for!”_

“NNNO—!” Zef managed to practically growl, this time less a protest and more a command, wrenching her head to the side in a clumsy attempt to headbutt Vithak--her hands were still handcuffed, useless, behind her.

This plan backfired, however, when Vithak deftly moved aside, clamping her head in a vice grip without even looking at her. 

_“Wait your turn, missy,”_ Vithak snapped as he shoved her aside, _“You’ll get your death soon enough.”_

 _“DON’T TOUCH HER!”_ Fren roared. He launched across the cell, tackling Vithak with the force of a speeding cruiser. Zef turned her head in time to see the two crash headlong into the wall with a sickening crunch, the wall denting with the impact. In the ensuing struggle, it was almost impossible to distinguish who was winning…

… Until suddenly Fren gave a sharp cry of pain as he rolled to one side, holding a deep wound in his chest. Vithak once more got to his feet, looming over the fallen Irken with a look of triumph on his face. He pointed the blade down at Fren, chuckling to himself. 

Fren attempted to get up, but had barely moved before a bout of violent coughing stopped him; it was with horror that Zef noticed he was coughing up blood, and when he began vomiting again, there was a terrifying amount of blood mixed in.

_“This time, stay dead.”_

In a fit of pure desperation, driven by an almost instinctive need to protect Fren at any cost, Zef gritted her teeth and wrenched her muscles into obedience. Sluggish at first but rapidly speeding up, she twisted around as Vithak raised the blade again to strike the killing blow.

She felt as if time was slowing down around her; in the space of a heartbeat she all but threw herself at Vithak, ramming into him and making him stumble just enough to interrupt his death blow. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure what to do from here…

Until she saw the Pak on his back and remembered the incident on the transport to Albedon, when she had hit his Pak and caused him to go into a coma-like state. Before he had the chance to react, and before she had time to think this through all the way, she did the only thing she could: she headbutted his Pak with all her might. 

All at once, several things happened: her head was almost instantly cleared of any remaining fog, at the price of an almost instant splitting headache, and Vithak’s Pak gave out a loud bang similar to the first time as the now-familiar force field was projected from Vithak’s Pak. Almost instantly, Vithak crumpled to the ground while Zef was knocked off her feet by the force field—and Vithak’s blade was sent skittering across the floor.

She gasped in pain, writhing on the ground in immense agony; not only was her head throbbing from the impact, but the force of being thrown to the floor had knocked the cable loose from her stomach slightly, reopening the wound and sending agonizing pain coursing through her body.

But she had done it: Fren was safe, at least for now. She didn’t know what to do now, but Fren was safe—that was all that mattered. Not even the excruciating pain could put a damper on that fact.

“F-Fren…” she groaned through gritted teeth, rolling her head to look over at him. “I—I… s-sorry…” It was getting harder and harder to breathe through the pain, let alone form words… but she had to tell him how sorry she was, just in case she didn’t make it. It was all her fault this had happened, her fault that Fren was lying on the floor with a hole in his chest—if only she hadn’t run off by herself again. 

“Zef, no—” Fren coughed, attempting to sit up. She saw his expression change from pain to horror as he saw the state she was in. But then her vision began to fluctuate, Fren’s face fading in and out of focus. He seemed to notice this and started towards her… but collapsed before he got even halfway there as another fit of coughing stopped him in his tracks, the coughs turning once more to vomiting. He was trembling, his breath ragged and uneven—and that worried Zef. If backup didn’t come soon… then it wouldn’t matter that she had stopped Vithak.

She wanted to reach out to him, wanted to hold his hand, wanted to reassure herself that he was really there. But her hands were pinned beneath her, the cold metal of the handcuffs digging into her back. Still, she attempted to shift so that she was closer to him… but then gasped as a flare of pain shot through her. With a sense of urgency in her strained voice she asked, “Where…. Backup?” 

“Here,” came a deep, familiar voice. Zef didn’t even have to look to know it was Croi—which was a good thing, because moving was getting more difficult again. “And it looks like just in time… Risk! They are down here! And I do not think they will be able to move by themselves!”

As Croi’s dark-skinned face swam into view, Zef found herself straining to stay conscious—darkness was beginning to seep into her vision, but she had to tell Croi about Donthar. If she could tell him where exactly Donthar was, then maybe this whole thing wouldn’t have been a waste. She strained to form words, only to find that her strength was almost completely gone. 

“D-Don… thar…” she managed to get out.

“Shhh, please, do not strain yourself. Risk is coming with more reinforcements. We will bring you to Outer Irk where you and Fren can get the medical attention you need.”

Outer Irk? No! By the time they got there, it would be too late!

She writhed, taking as deep of a breath as she could and tried again to tell him… to no avail. The movement further dislodged the cable from her stomach, sending yet another wave of pain tearing through her. Still, she was determined to not give up. She owed it to Donthar. She gritted her teeth and opened her mouth, trying to form her groans into an actual words.  
   
“Zef, you are in no condition to speak, let alone go on a rescue mission,” Croi said, his tone making it clear that he knew what she was trying to do. “You need to recover first—both of you.” 

When Zef gave no indication of giving up, he gave an exasperated sigh and reached down and firmly pinched a nerve at the base of her neck—almost instantly her vision went dark once more as she was dropped into oblivion.


	10. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a collaboration between myself and my friend [Leon](http://irken-risk.deviantart.com/). Risk, Fren, Vithak, and the Syndicate are his; everyone (and everything) else is mine.

_Stand by....._

_Nano-Gene Bio Enhancement System online. Viral purge completed._

Fren’s eyes snapped open. “Zef!” He sat up, smashing his way through a layer of glass overhead and triggering an alarm which went silent moments later as the door opened.

“Fren, Fren!” Risk shouted as he rushed over to the older Irken, whose body was now ejecting shards of glass thanks to his now functional nano-genes. He gripped his shoulders as Fren finished smashing his way free of the medical scanner/bed and stood on his feet. “Fren, it’s okay! You and Zef are safe.”

“W-what?”

“After we got there, your nano-genes made you go into a state of hibernation.” Risk explained, allowing Fren to look around the familiar medical bay of the Ranger. “I wish you had given us a bit more time to catch up with you; we could have helped take on Vithak.”

“Vithak, what happened to him? Did he get away?!” Fren asked urgently before his eyes settled on the form of Zef, who was lying in a bed with the cover pulled up to her neck. He walked over to her and eased himself into a chair at her bedside, heedless of the fact that he was only wearing a set of shorts.

Risk sat down with him. “Zef only disabled him by using a flaw in his PAK that all WitchHunters of Vithak’s generation share. But...knowing your grievances against him, I decided to roll his sorry ass out into the wastelands while the transports was still moving seeing as his shield kept me from shooting him in the face.” He smiled a bit and set a hand on Fren’s shoulder. “If he isn’t dead by now, he’s close to it. Nothing can survive out there amidst the radiation, polluted air, acidic water and deadly storms. You won’t be seeing him again.”

Fren shut his eyes and gently brushed Zef’s antennae with one hand. “I’ll believe that when I see the body, Risk. Vithak has come back from death before...you know this. My dad killed him...you killed him years ago...he will be back somehow.”

“Maybe...” Risk let his smile fade. “But for now you and Zef are safe, and we have a worse issue...Donthar is beyond our help now.”

“... What?”

“We managed to find footage from Albedon,” Risk explained. “He’s a slave now...to my uncle.”

Fren shot to his feet. “Then we know where he is! Why aren’t we going to save him?! We’ve broken into Irken palaces before, and Blue’s is no exception. We could-”

“We already thought of trying Fren, but...my uncle foresaw our future efforts and decided to make it clear why trying to save Donthar would only get him killed.” Risk cut him off with a firm and raised tone. “...he has a special slave collar designed to ensure that he remains either within Blue’s residence or within proximity of Blue, Teivol or anybody they deem fit to watch over him. Between that and the classic shock and explosive functions along with additional security measures, it would require a massive operation to rescue Donthar from them...and I’m sorry, but we can’t afford to do that all for the sake of a single person.”

Fren growled and grabbed Risk roughly, forcing him out of his chair and slamming him into a wall. “You would do it for Kid! For your mother! Don’t you tell me that Donthar is not worth the risk, he is our friend and ally and we know exactly what Blue and Teivol will do to him if he stays with them for too long!”

“I know that!” Risk lowered his voice when he saw Zef stirring, being disturbed by the raised voices and shouting going on between the two. “But Fren...even with all of the resources at my disposal, we have a greater chance of killing Donthar than we have of saving him. We need to wait and be patient,” He gripped Fren’s wrists and gently forced them away from him. “I don’t intend to let the Empire enslave anybody forever, much less one of our friends. But if we want to ever save him...we have to let this go for now and focus on bringing the empire down.”

He stepped towards the door and stopped. “...Fren, I’d also like to let you know...I’m relieving you of your duties towards the Syndicate.” He met Fren’s startled expression with his own usual calm one. “Be with her, Fren. She’s going to need you there when she wakes up...she’s going to need you to stay with her after all that has happened. I’m not firing you, but I am telling you that as of now your only rebel related activities and orders, until I say otherwise, will come from the Raiders instead of the Syndicate.”

Fren nodded. “...Alright...thank you.” He sighed. “And you’re right Risk...I’m sorry, it’s just...leaving Donthar with those two...it makes me want to break something in half.” He walked back towards Zef’s bed and lowered himself back down into his chair. “Nothing has changed from before Zef ran off...it just feels like we lost a lot and gained little in return for it.”

“I know the feeling, believe me.” Risk said before stepping out. “I once saved the life of somebody I love from Vithak, and afterwards I had to let him go back to his master and act like nothing had changed.” He sighed. “...part of me wishes I’d refused to let that happen, that I’d kept him close and never let Blue take him back. But sometimes we just can’t win outright, Fren...we can’t pull miracles out of our asses every time something like this happens and create a solution from thin air. All that we can do is outlast our enemies who cause these things to happen, live long enough to change things...and I think that with you staying close to her from now on, Zef will live long enough to free her friend one day.”

He dimmed the lights using the controls. “Get some rest now...you’re still not back up to one hundred percent efficiency.”

“Is that an order?” Fren asked.

“...friendly advice only,” Risk answered before shutting the door and leaving Fren alone with a slumbering Zef in silence.

***

A lone figure stood on the transporter. He was the only figure still breathing on the entire ship; every single other inhabitant of the ship was lying dead in a pool of their own blood.  
None of this seemed to phase the lone figure. He didn’t even seem to notice the corpses as he stepped over them, the metal heels of his boots clicking coldly on the floor. He continued to walk through the ship, his unnaturally glowing pupils sliding over the carnage as if searching for something.

The ship, set on autopilot, had arrived at its destination even without its pilot, and the lone figure had stepped aboard to survey the state of this transport.

He finally stopped once he reached the cell block, staring at the scene with disdain. There was blood everywhere, footprints of varying sizes tracking the blood across the floor, and small puddles of sickness mingled in with the blood. And yet… there were no bodies.

None of this came as a surprise to the lone Irken. He had known that Vithak’s plan wouldn’t work. Together, the two rebels amplified each other’s strength… or, rather, they were equally determined to do the impossible in order to protect the other. 

But then his icy gaze fell on something on the floor; the hilt of a blade, lying deactivated beside a puddle of blood. The lone Irken walked over to it, hardly believing his luck as he reached down and picked up the hilt, turning it over in his hands to examine it.

“… Now you’ll _have_ to give me the respect I deserve, you nano-gened freak,” the Irken said, "Or I'll carve your heart straight out of your chest."

A slow grin spread across Teivol’s face as he activated the Micro-Filament Projection Blade.


End file.
